


temperance

by oryx



Category: Danball Senki
Genre: Dumb boys being dumb, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He definitely has <i>not</i> been missing Sendou these past few days. Not even a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	temperance

He’s not quite sure how it happens. Somewhere in between the Saturn Incident and the start of their first year in high school, he and Sendou fall into a routine.

 

There’s nothing odd about it, of course. Every day they meet up, they battle, they exchange a few insults, they go home. There’s no awkward attempts at in-depth conversation. No sentimental peace offerings. Not even any punches thrown, though god knows the idea of smacking that arrogant smirk off Sendou’s face is often a tempting one. In the end it’s an LBX thing, nothing more.

 

And yet Hanzou still feels defensive when the subject is brought up, for reasons he can’t quite explain.

 

“Leader,” Rico whines. “Why have you been spending so much time with _that guy_ lately?” Her lip curls in distaste. “How can you stand being around him? He’s seriously the worst!”

 

“The worst!” Tetsuo echoes, and Kinji nods his assent.

 

Hanzou shrugs; averts his gaze pointedly. “He’s one of the only guys around who’s strong enough to take me on,” he says. “That’s all there is to it. Not like I’d spend time with him otherwise.”

 

But the next day they’re in the middle of a battle – Nightmare running circles around Hakai-O Z as usual – when a strange thought occurs to him. Hanzou’s fingers go still on the buttons of his CCM. He glances up at Sendou, who is sneering at him from across the diorama.

 

“Given up, Gouda? I know my prowess must be astounding for a simpleton like yourself to witness, but – ”

 

“Do you want to get something to eat after this?”

 

Sendou blinks at him.

 

“… Excuse me?”

 

“I’m half-starved,” Hanzou continues and oh fuck what is he doing, this is weird, this is one step too far beyond their unspoken boundaries. “I’m thinking udon. I know a cheap place two blocks from here. You down with that?”

 

Sendou narrows his eyes like he thinks it’s some kind of trick, like he’s sizing up the pros and cons of rejecting versus accepting. He whips a tarot card from his deck and stares at it for a long moment, an indescribable emotion flickering across his face.

 

“Alright,” he says finally, and Hanzou is so taken aback that he hardly notices Nightmare’s scythe swinging down on Hakai-O Z’s unprotected back. “But you’re paying.”

 

.

 

.

 

They’re halfway to the noodle shop when someone calls his name. He turns to see his neighbor, Mrs. Nase, a sweet old lady who’s lived alone in the apartment above theirs since her husband passed away. Hanzou helped her carry her groceries up the stairs once and she’s been stopping to talk with him ever since.

 

“Hanzou-kun,” she says, waving to him. “I haven’t seen you much lately! Do you have a part-time job?”

 

“Uh… Yeah. Something like that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Beating Sendou’s smug ass in LBX battles counts as work, right? (And even if he wanted a real job, he doubts that any self-respecting place would hire a teenage thug like himself.) Quickly changing the subject, he asks: “How’s your hip, obaa-san? Feeling better?”

 

She smiles. “Oh, it’s feeling much better! Thank you for asking, Hanzou-kun. Probably just the cold weather getting to my joints again.” She pauses and looks past Hanzou to Sendou, whose current expression can only be described as contemptuous. “And who is your friend? I don’t believe I’ve ever met him before!”

 

Hanzou grimaces at the word ‘friend.’ Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sendou do the same.

 

“This is Sendou,” he says. “We’re, uh… in a club together.”

 

“A club?” Mrs. Nase says. She claps her hands delightedly. “Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s very nice to meet you, Sendou-kun.”

 

“…Likewise,” Sendou mutters.

 

“Now I’m sure you boys are busy, so I’ll leave you be. But come say hello now and again, alright Hanzou-kun? Don’t be a stranger!”

 

“Y-yeah,” he says, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll do that.”

 

When she is out of earshot, Sendou turns to him with a mocking smile. “So this is the true face of Gouda Hanzou,” he murmurs. “A good little boy, beloved by every elderly woman in the neighborhood. Truly, you are a frightening sight to behold. Please spare me your wrath, O Destruction God of Hell!”

 

“Shaddup,” Hanzou mutters, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. “You saying you go around intimidating old grannies or something?”

 

“No,” Sendou says. “But I certainly don’t go around asking them about their arthritis.” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Gouda, I think it’s time to face facts: you’re just not cut out to be a delinquent. You may have ruled Misora, but in high school you’ll be lost amid a crowd of pathetic, wannabe gangsters. If you’re lucky I may consider taking you on as my subordinate, but otherwise I see little hope in your future.”

 

Hanzou’s fists clench, nails digging into the palms of his hands. Irritation hits him like a slap in the face. “What did you just say?? How about we duke it out right here, right now? You can talk big all you want, but I’d decimate you in a one-on-one fight!”

 

“Oh really?” Sendou draws a card and his smile widens. “The Magician tells me otherwise.”

 

“God, would you quit it with those fucking tarot cards – ”

 

It is then that they round the corner and the noodle shop comes into view. Hanzou stops his impassioned rant mid-sentence and glances from the restaurant to Sendou and back again. He wars with himself for a moment before sighing.

 

“Truce?” he asks wearily. “Just until we’re done eating?”

 

Sendou holds his gaze for a moment. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nods his agreement.

 

(Food, it seems, can trump even the fiercest contention.)

 

.

 

Sendou leaves an empty seat between them when they sit down at the counter, and Hanzou finds himself frowning. It’s not like he _wants_ to sit next to the guy, but the shop is little more than a hole in the wall, and the distance between them feels awkward and forced.

 

The owner of the place, Fukui, leans across the counter with an easy smile.

 

“How’s it going, Hanzou-kun?” he says. “Enjoying your last bit of freedom before school starts up again?”

 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He grins. “But it doesn’t matter much. I’ll probably end up slacking off in high school anyway.”

 

“Man, to be young and dumb again,” Fukui sighs, but there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “What’ll it be? The usual?”

 

“Yeah,” Hanzou says. He jabs a thumb in Sendou’s direction. “And one for him, too.”

 

Sendou scowls. “Who said you could order for me?”

 

“You’ll love it,” Hanzou says, and waves a hand dismissively. “Trust me.”

 

Fukui disappears into the kitchen, and Sendou’s scowl gradually evens back into his usual smirk. “Are you on a first name basis with everyone in this part of town?” he drawls. “Everywhere we go it’s ‘Hanzou-kun, Hanzou-kun!’ Like they’re about to pat you on the head and give you sweets or something. Fucking pathetic.”

 

“Fuck off, Sendou,” Hanzou snaps. “At least people _like_ me. I doubt the same can be said for you. How many friends you have, exactly? Oh, that’s right: _none_.”

 

Sendou’s face closes off for a moment, his eyes going all empty and cold, and Hanzou anticipates a counterattack. It is when Sendou seems the most emotionless that his rage is often at its worst. But instead he merely ‘hmph’s and averts his gaze. ( _Right_ , Hanzou thinks. _The truce_.)

 

“Whatever, _Hanzou-kun_ ,” he mutters, and Hanzou’s stomach promptly twists itself into a knot.

 

It’s strange, hearing his first name on Sendou’s lips. Even if Sendou’s tone is mocking, the intimacy of it makes his face grow hot. Only adults call him Hanzou – his old man and his neighbors and a few close family friends. Even to the Devas he’s only ever been Gouda or Leader. (He imagines Rico calling him “Hanzou” and feels nothing, though. Why is it only Sendou that bothers him so much?)

 

Fukui emerges from the kitchen and sets their food down on the counter, and Hanzou hastily tries to push these thoughts aside.

 

 _Forget about it_ , he tells himself, but still the nagging uneasiness lingers.

 

.

 

.

 

Sendou stretches his arms over his head. He pulls his scarf a little tighter around his neck, breath turning to white in the frigid night air.

 

“Surprisingly enough,” he says, “that was not the absolute worst evening I’ve ever spent. Congratulations, Gouda. You managed to entertain me for two straight hours, and I only once contemplated punching you in the face.”

 

“Thanks,” Hanzou mutters. “I feel honored.” There’s a faint, cold wind that bites at his skin, sharp and invigorating, and he wonders if it will snow. It’s only nine but the streets are nearly empty. He and Sendou walk a length apart from each other, trying not to match each other’s footsteps, until they arrive at a fork in the road. They pause underneath the glare of a streetlamp.

 

“Usual place, usual time tomorrow?” Sendou says brusquely, examining his fingernails, trying to act like he doesn’t care.

 

“…Yeah,” Hanzou says. What kind of expression might Sendou show him, if he were to one day say ‘no’? Would he be caught unawares, unable to disguise his look of hurt, his eyes going all soft and sad around the edges? Or would he play at apathy, hiding like he always does behind a mask of nonchalant arrogance? (Better yet, why does Hanzou care?)

 

He is so wrapped up in thought that he doesn’t notice Sendou’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder – doesn’t notice Sendou leaning in close until his lips are only a hairs-breadth from the shell of his ear.

 

“See you then, _Hanzou-kun_ ,” Sendou whispers. His voice is low and his breath is hot, and Hanzou feels a shiver travel down the length of his spine. He claps a hand over his ear and stumbles backwards, shoving Sendou away roughly. His pulse is racing, heartbeat tapping out an agitated, overloud rhythm.

 

“What the fuck?” he hisses. It shouldn’t be possible, in this weather, for his face to feel like it’s on fire. “What the hell do you think you’re doing??”

 

Sendou merely laughs.

 

“God, you’re so easy to screw with,” he says, rolling his eyes. He turns to walk away and lifts a hand in a casual parting gesture.

 

For a few moments Hanzou just stands there, irritation and bewilderment and something he can’t quite put name to settling in the hollow of his chest. He takes a deep, shaky breath, willing himself to calm the fuck down.

 

“I’ll get you back for that one, Sendou!” he calls, but Sendou is already fading away into the darkness, vanishing around a bend in the road without a backwards glance.

 

.

 

.

 

His opportunity for revenge comes in two days’ time, when he walks into Kitajima Model Shop to find the place empty save for Sendou. He’s standing at the work bench, back turned to Hanzou, making some adjustments to Nightmare’s motor. Hanzou glances around. Kojirou and Saki are nowhere to be seen – in the storage room taking inventory, probably, or in the back awaiting a shipment.

 

“I know you’re there, Gouda,” Sendou says, sounding bored. “If you’re planning some kind of childish sneak attack, forget about it – ”

 

In one swift movement, Hanzou is sidling up close behind him, sliding one arm around his waist and another across his chest and pulling him into a tight embrace.

 

“ _Ah_ ,” he moans, directly into Sendou’s ear. “ _Daiki~_ ”

 

He only has a moment to think about how startlingly soft Sendou is before Nightmare falls from Sendou’s hands, landing on the counter with a _thunk_. His entire body goes rigid, and he twists his way out of Hanzou’s arms, throwing his elbow back, aiming for Hanzou’s midsection. Hanzou deflects it and sidesteps away, grinning broadly.

 

“Man, I told you I’d get you back,” he laughs. “You didn’t even see that coming – ”

 

Sendou spins around, grabbing Hanzou by the collar and slamming him up against the wall. The back of his head smacks against the hard surface and for a moment there are white spots swimming across his vision. When they fade away he is struck by Sendou’s expression. It is one he’s never seen before. He looks _angry_ – not in that blank, impassive way, or in that exaggerated, antagonistic way that they play at from time to time, but real, honest-to-god fury. His hands are trembling ever so slightly as they curl into the fabric of Hanzou’s jacket.

 

“Don’t you – don’t you fucking touch me,” he hisses. There’s venom in his voice, but all of his usual cocksure confidence is gone. “Touch me like that again and I’ll break your fucking legs, Gouda. You got that??”

 

Hanzou is too dazed to form a coherent reply.

 

Sendou releases his vice-like grip on Hanzou’s collar and turns sharp on his heel, grabbing Nightmare before stalking away. The tips of his ears are pink, Hanzou notices. Strange.

 

“H-hey,” he says, remembering his voice. “Where are you going?”

 

Sendou doesn’t reply. There is tension present in his footsteps.

 

“Are you… Are you seriously leaving? What the hell, man? What’s the matter with you?”

 

Sendou kicks the door open and is gone.

 

.

 

.

 

He doesn’t show up the next day.

 

Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

 

On the fourth day of Sendou’s absence Hanzou sits on the front steps of the shop and taps his foot impatiently, from time to time casting a searching glance down the street. This shit is really starting to piss him off. Sendou’s never pulled anything like this before. He’s always been extraordinarily blunt, willing to tell Hanzou (in detail) exactly how much he hated him and why. But this… This is different. It’s almost like Sendou’s _sulking_ , or giving him some version of the silent treatment, and being purposefully ignored is not something Hanzou is accustomed to.

 

Even worse, he has no idea what he did to warrant it.

 

“You’re here again, Leader?”

 

He lifts his eyes to see the Devas standing over him. Rico and Kinji are looking at him with barely disguised concern.

 

“You should forget about that guy,” Tetsuo says, munching steadily on some cookies. “He’s an asshole, anyway. I’ll battle with you, Leader! My Nazuu has gotten a lot stronger lately.”

 

“…Nah,” Hanzou mutters, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s fine. I think… I think I’m just gonna go to the base for a little while. You guys… I’ll see you later, okay?”

 

Battling with Tetsuo just wouldn’t be the same, he thinks. That thrill he gets when he and Sendou step up to the diorama can’t be found with anyone else, and he wonders why that is. There are better LBX players out there. Ban. Kaidou Jin. But all the same there is something in Nightmare’s movements that seems to complement Hakai-O Z’s, a contrast between them that seems somehow significant.

 

Like they were always meant to battle together.

 

(Hanzou shakes his head, contemptuous. What a stupid idea.)

 

.

 

He pushes open the door of the Devas HQ only to find Sendou lounging, catlike, on the couch. Relief washes over him, quickly followed by abject mortification. He definitely has _not_ been missing Sendou. Not even a little.

 

“What the fuck are you doing in our base?” he asks, attempting a scowl. “You looking for a fight?”

 

Sendou just sighs exasperatedly. “Don’t be a dumbass. This won’t be your turf for much longer, you know. Unless you plan to defend it all the way from North High? We’re almost in high school, Gouda. Soon enough some pubescent middle school brat is going to take this place over, just like you did when you first got to Misora.” He presses a hand to his heart. “And so the great circle of delinquency continues steadily onward.”

 

Hanzou is about to snap at him, about to start another pointless quarrel, but feels a sudden weariness pressing down on him. It’s just not worth the trouble.

 

“… Yeah,” he says, his voice sounding tired and thin even to his own ears. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

Sendou raises an eyebrow. “My, you’re docile today. Did something happen, Hanzou-kun? Were you feeling _bereft_ without me these past few days?” He draws a card and his lips curl into a smile. “The Reversed Hermit. That means loneliness, you know.”

 

Hanzou ignores his taunts. “Why’d you flip out the other day?” he asks, cutting straight to the point.

 

Sendou sighs again and gets to his feet. “Let’s just call it a ‘momentary lapse in judgment,’” he says. “Provoked by your oblivious idiocy, of course, but a lapse in judgment nonetheless.”

 

“Oblivious?” Hanzou echoes. “Oblivious to what?”

 

Sendou looks at him for a long, quiet moment. He’s less than an arm’s length away – when did he get so close? – and Hanzou notices (not for the first time) how long his eyelashes are.

 

“What do you think?” Sendou says, his words slow and deliberate. Hanzou finds himself watching the way his lips curve around each syllable.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

Finally, he gets it.

 

His mouth goes dry, and he clears his throat awkwardly. He feels suddenly conscious of himself, unsure of what to do with his hands, and so does the only thing that makes any sense. He puts his hands on Sendou’s waist and pulls him in, lips colliding together in a clumsy semblance of a kiss.

 

He’s kissed a few girls in the past, but this – this is something else entirely. Sendou laughs into his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip, one hand reaching up and twisting in his hair, tugging hard until he hisses in pain. Hanzou’s fingers dig into Sendou’s side in retaliation as he pushes back, pressing with his tongue until Sendou’s lips part for him.

 

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Sendou asks, breaking away. He’s trying to look haughty but his breath is coming quick and there’s a faint redness high in his cheeks.

 

“No,” Hanzou admits. “No, not really.”

 

He grins and leans in for another kiss, hands flat on the small of Sendou’s back, feeling the flushed warmth of his skin even through his jacket.

 

This feels right, and he’s never been one for overthinking.

 

.

 

.

 

Strangely enough, nothing changes in the days that follow.

 

Sendou still goads him into countless petty arguments, and they still threaten each other with bodily harm, and when they go to Fukui’s place there is still that empty seat stretching out like a chasm between them.

 

But later, when they walk home, Sendou falls into place next to Hanzou like it’s the most natural thing, their hands brushing every so often, and neither of them seem to mind the matching rhythm of their footsteps.

 

Hanzou bites back a smile.

 

It’s not much, but it’s a start.


End file.
